Fist frowned. “I don’t think that the things I have been dreaming could come from Big John’s master.”
Bad dreams, Squirrel agreed.
“The Creator is your master too, whether you know it or not,” Sarine said. “He is the reason you have the bond in the first place. You were chosen.” She saw the frightened look on his face and patted his arm. “This is a good thing, dear. It means you were meant for great things. As for the nature of your dreams, you shouldn’t fear them, no matter how horrible or real they seem.”
“But I don’t want them to be true,” Fist said. His ears started crawling again and he had to resist the urge to rub at them.
“You shouldn’t take them literally, dear,” Sarine said. “They are just glimpses. Our minds aren’t meant to understand the complexities of the world of dreams. What you think of as a nightmare is actually your mind’s attempt at explaining the brief glimpses of truth it has seen during your waking hours. The odd things you see are actually just representing something deeper.”
Ohhh, said Squirrel as if he understood.
Fist had no idea if Squirrel was teasing him or not. This was a hard concept to grasp. “How do I know if the dream is true or not?”
“The dream is rarely completely true. Just aspects of it are,” she explained. “As for how to tell, it just takes practice. I’ve been having them for two centuries now and I still have difficulty discerning what is truth at times. The key is to stay aware.”
“How do I do that?” Fist asked.
“There is usually a moment somewhere during the dream where you are aware that it isn’t real.”
“Oh, at the beginning,” Fist said. “It usually starts the same way, with me up in the clouds. I usually know I’m dreaming then, but I forget.”
“Good. Use that moment. Hold onto that awareness and don’t let the dream overtake you. If you hold on to your consciousness during the dream you’ll find that there are some aspects of the dream that you can control. The truths in your dream are often the constants. Those are parts that will not change no matter how aware you are.”
“In my dreams I’m always falling,” Fist said, his eyes wide. “Does that mean I’m going to fall?”
“Possibly,” she said, then laughed at the expression on his face. “But I wouldn’t count on it. One thing that will also help you discern the truths mixed into your dream is knowing what your talent is.” She held up three fingers. “Do your dreams tell you the present, the past, or the future? That is something only experience can tell you.”
Fist thought it over. The dreams always had Crag calling him ‘toompa’. That was probably about the past. But the other parts: the dark army, the fall, the lake of worms, Squirrel turning into a beast and attacking him . . . he hoped that the things he was dreaming weren’t the future.
Chapter Sixteen
The ogres accepted the appearance of the two academy warriors in their midst without quarrel. They were members of Fist’s tribe after all, and that was to be respected. Maryanne, on the other hand, was greeted by a camp full of wide-eyed stares.
Rub and Burl had warned them that she was coming, but few of the ogres had ever seen a gnome before and none of them had seen a gnome female. At nearly seven and a half feet, she was as tall or taller than most of them, yet she looked so different with straight auburn hair and her long narrow nose. And she was so thin, thinner than any ogress they had ever seen. A debate started up between some of them as to whether she was truly a female at all.
Maryanne misunderstood the attention as admiration and smiled at them. She shrugged off her jacket and spun, giving them all a good view of her lithely muscled frame. Hers was definitely a female body. The gnome’s leather armor covered her body completely from ankles to wrists, but it was so tight that it left little to the imagination. This stirred the ogres up even more.
Maryanne’s outfit was scandalous, not because it was so tight, but because of her bow and quiver and the knives strapped to various places on her body. Rub had told them that this female was a warrior, but most of the ogres had laughed off the idea.
Another debate started up. How could this female survive a fight? Would she not crumple under a single blow?
This time Maryanne heard what they were saying. She gripped the handle of one of her knives, a particularly long one, whose sheath was strapped to her right thigh. “Do any of you care to try striking me? You’ll lose an arm.”
This caused another round of outraged grunts. A few of them stood and puffed out their chests.
“Nobody is striking anybody,” Fist said, rushing up to stand next to her. He addressed the ogres. “What you heard is true. Maryanne is a warrior. A good one. She is also part of my tribe! You will give her that respect. Otherwise, I will not stop her from killing you.” This quieted most of them, but a few still snickered and Fist looked to Charz for help. “Charz, tell them how deadly she is. Would you want to fight with her?”
“With her?” Charz grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Gnome warriors are always a challenge.”
Maryanne narrowed her eyes in response. “I can’t say the same about giants.”
The ogres sent startled looks Charz’s way. The giant laughed. “She would eat you all for lunch!”
This startled the ogres as they took his statement literally. Could such a skinny thing eat so many ogres? But they didn’t dare dispute the giant’s word. There was only one of them left that wasn’t cowed.
“This thing is part of your tribe, Big Fist?” Puj said, her voice was hoarse and filled with anger. “Do you mate with it?”
“Oh, I don’t like her,” Maryanne growled.
“In my tribe women are not just for mating. I’ve told you that,” Fist said.
Puj grunted in derision. “You like skinny womens. Twigs and bones!”
“I’m going to cut that fat sow,” Maryanne said, grabbing the handle of her long knife again.
“Stop!” Fist grasped her hand before she decided to slide the blade clear of its sheath. He put his attention back on Puj. The ogress’ voice sounded ragged and pained, but it wasn’t from emotion. He stepped closer to her. “What happened to you, Puj?”
She took a few steps backward and shook her head. “You don’t like Puj.”
He moved closer to her and frowned. There was blood at the corner of her lips and big red welts on her neck in the shape of fingers. So that was why her voice sounded so strained. “Who did this to you?”
“Me!” she said, large tears welling up in her eyes.
Lies, said Squirrel from his position on Fist’s shoulder.
“No, Puj. You could not have done this. The marks are all wrong.” Fist swung around to face the rest of the ogres. Most of them looked away. “Who did this? Which of you is hurting her?”
There was no response. Fist scanned the ogres. Which one was it? Burl and his two friends were averting their eyes, but Fist doubted it was Burl. It might have been technically possible, but Burl had returned to camp only a short time before Fist had.
He looked to his father. The chieftain had been ignoring the conversation. He was sitting on a stump with his back to them. “Crag! Tell them to leave Puj alone.”
“They did nothing!” Crag replied.
Lies! Squirrel snapped.
“Nothing?” Fist shouted. He grabbed Puj’s arm and dragged her over to the chief. “You know this! Look!”
“Thunder Peoples do not fight womens!” Crag shouted, still refusing to look his way.
“Look!” Fist said again. He pulled Puj in front of his father and tilted her head back, showing Crag the angry red finger marks on her neck. “Puj did not do this. I did not do this. Who else could it be?”
Crag’s eyebrows drew close together. Surely he could not ignore the evidence now that it was this close to his face. Not while everyone was watching. His eyes met Fist’s. “She is not a Thunder People any more. I can not protect her.”
“Just because she isn’t part of your tribe
?” Fist asked. “Don’t you see that this is wrong? She is being hurt and one of your ogres is doing it!”
Crag cocked his head. “Why do you care about Puj, Fist? You will not let her in your tribe. You push her away at nights. We seed it.”
Fist’s jaw worked for a moment. “She could be part of my tribe when this is all over.”
Yes! Squirrel agreed.
“No.” Puj pulled out of his grasp. “You have your skinny women now. You do not need Puj!”
Let her in, Squirrel urged. You let the gnome.
Fist sighed. Squirrel had a point. He had been unfair to Puj and the thing was, for the worry and frustration she caused him, Fist didn’t dislike her. She didn’t deserve all the humiliation she had gone through.
“I know. I will take her back then,” Crag decided with a nod. “You do not want her. So you can choose another women when we get to our territory; one you like better.”
Now all eyes were on Fist. He wasn’t sure what to say. After all, he didn’t really want to take her as his mate. Perhaps this was for the best. If Crag took her back, the chief could protect her. Fist wouldn’t have to worry about her any more.
She will be happier with other ogres and their ways. It’s the life she’s used to, Fist sent. And whoever is hurting her will stop.
No, said Squirrel, and he pushed a memory into Fist’s mind. It was from that day at the Mage School when Fist had seen the ogres fighting. Puj had been wounded then, her nose and mouth bloodied.
Fist understood what Squirrel was saying. That had been before Crag tried to give her to him. The chief hadn’t protected her then. Why would that change? Fist looked at Puj’s pretty face and the tears streaming from her eyes and the blood on her lips and the marks on her neck.
“I will not wait any more,” Fist decided. “Puj, you can be part of my tribe.”
Good! said Squirrel, clapping his little hands in excitement. Puj’s eyes widened in confusion.
“You will take her?” Crag asked with a surprised smile. “You sayed you must wait.”
“I am an ogre mage. I can change the rules,” Fist said, but he was still watching Puj’s reaction. Her face was pinched in thought and one hand was fingering the welts on her neck.
Crag laughed and clapped him on the back. “Good! Good! Now you have a ogre women. You will have strong sons.”
Fist decided to ignore that statement. “But if she is to join my tribe, it must be her choice.” He reached out and placed his hand on the ogress’ shoulder. “Are you sure you want this, Puj? The Big and Little People is different than other ogre tribes. You might find some of our ways hard to understand.”
“She has no choice,” said Rub flippantly. “She is a women.”
“I give her that choice!” Fist snapped, causing the stupid ogre to flinch. “What do you say, Puj? No one will dare to hurt you if you are in my tribe.”
Puj stared over at Burl and his friends. All three of them were looking back at her. Burl wore a look akin to approval and gave her an encouraging nod. Glug and Beard glared.
“I am Big and Little People now!” she shouted. “I am with Big Fist! You cannot have me any more!”
Glug looked away, his cheeks coloring, while Beard’s glare only deepened. Fist was now positive that one or both of them were responsible for the beatings Puj had endured. He would have to watch them closer now. Squirrel will you tell me if they come close to her?
I will watch, Squirrel agreed. He jumped over to Puj’s shoulder and held out a shelled nut.
“Oh!” she said, a smile spreading on her face as she opened her mouth and allowed him to toss the nut in. “Skirl! I am in your tribe now!”
Squirrel nodded and chattered back at her excitedly.
Maryanne sidled up to Fist and whispered, “You have something going on with that girl, big guy?”
“No,” he replied. “She’s just . . . it’s complicated. I’ll explain later.”
The gnome sighed, her breath hot on his ear. “This is going to be an interesting trip.”
The presence of the academy warriors allowed the party to take a more direct route towards the mountains. They headed northwest through the plains, Qenzic and Lyramoor scouting ahead to make sure that they didn’t run into any other travelers. The warriors led them into the hills just north of Wobble where they could keep out of sight of the main road. In a mere two day’s time, they had made their way west of the academy construction and crossed the High Dremald road. The trek into the mountains began.
Fist had feared that letting Puj into his tribe would make things more uncomfortable between them, but instead her change in status calmed her down. No longer did she feel pressure to please him for Crag’s sake. She continued to sleep close to Fist, but stopped trying to throw herself at him. For the time being, she was content to stick by his side and listen as Fist told her stories of his experiences with the other races and explained ways in which their society was superior to the ogres.
The newest members of the party blended in quite well. Lyramoor and Qenzic kept ahead of the others on horseback most of the day, only returning back every once in a while if they needed to warn the others of dangers on the paths ahead. In the evenings, they joked around with Charz by the fire side, not acting nervous around the ogres at all.
Maryanne kept pace with Fist as they traveled, her bow in hand at all times, looking for opportunities to shoot. There wasn’t much game to hunt. The region had been picked bare by Ewzad Vriil’s armies and she shied away from killing squirrels at Fist’s request. Still, her eyes were keen and she managed the odd bird, which was a good thing, because their provisions were running low.
When there wasn’t anything living to shoot at, the gnome warrior focused on opportunities for crazy trick shots. She never missed. Fist saw Maryanne strike tiny knots at the top of trees and shoot pebbles off of boulders. The strange thing was that she never bothered to retrieve her arrows. When Fist asked her why this was the case, her response was quite strange.
“Chester will bring them back,” she said.
“Who?” Fist asked.
“That’s my quiver’s name,” she explained. “Chester was a gift to me from Kyrkon’s sect, the Pruball Elves in Khalpany.” She unclipped the quiver from her belt and held it out so that Fist could examine it. The quiver was made of fine oak and leather, and was covered with tiny runework.
Fist noticed that some of the runes were spirit magic runes. When he switched to spirit sight, he saw a soft gray glow surrounding it. “Is there a spirit bound to it?”
“A falcon,” Maryanne said, clipping the quiver back at her hip. “Chester memorizes the arrows I put inside and whenever I fire ‘em, she brings ‘em back.”
“But how do they come back?” Fist wondered. He couldn’t figure how such a thing would be done magically speaking. The gnome had fired at least a dozen arrows that morning and the quiver seemed full. He imagined air magic was involved in some way, but he hadn’t seen any of the arrows flying back.
Maryanne shrugged. “I don’t know how she does it. The arrows just disappear from wherever I shoot ‘em and show back up.”
Fist found the idea fascinating. “Does it have a range? If you shoot an arrow too far away does it stay gone?”
“I can’t tell you for sure, but I shoot a lot of arrows and Chester has never lost one. Not unless the arrow’s broke.” The gnome patted the quiver fondly. “She watches over ‘em like they are her own clutch of eggs.”
“She?” Fist said. “Chester is a girl?”
“A female falcon,” the gnome verified.
“But . . . isn’t Chester a boy’s name?” he asked.
Maryanne rolled her eyes. “Everybody asks me that. Look, I was newly bonded back then and not near as smart as I am now. If I was choosing the name today it would be different, but don’t tease her about it. Chester likes her name.”
“Sorry,” Fist said. Evidently it was a sore subject.
“You named your squirrel Squirrel,
” she pointed out.
Fist chuckled. “That’s true. I probably would have named him different if I knew what I know now.”
What? Why? Squirrel asked from his spot on Puj’s shoulder.
Puj said nothing during the exchange, but kept a close eye on them. She did this whenever he spoke with the gnome, measuring their interactions. Fist could tell that the ogress found Maryanne intimidating, but since he hadn’t shown the gnome any more affection than he had Puj, it hadn’t become an issue.
Things were going much better than expected. Fist would have found the journey enjoyable if not for his struggles at night. He had done as Darlan instructed and stopped draining his magic. Now he had to suffer through the nightmares.
Knowing that Justan had endured vivid dreams of his own, Fist told him what Mistress Sarine had said. Justan was surprised. He hadn’t known that his dreams had anything to do with his magic. Justan grew excited by the concept and encouraged Fist to try what she had suggested; learn to control the dreams and figure out what it was they were trying to tell him.
Of course that was easier said than done. The times when Fist knew he was dreaming were brief. He tried to hold on to that awareness, but only with rare success. The dreams just seemed so real. When he did manage to hold on to his reality, it didn’t last long. As if aware what he was trying to do, the dreams would throw in a new wrinkle, something that would surprise and disorient him until he lost himself once again.
The dreams varied in some ways but they always started with him up in the clouds and ended with him either attacked by the mysterious beast in Squirrel’s pouch or with the discovery that maggots had found a way to burrow into his body. Each time this happened, Fist woke up startled and sweating. The nightmares left him disoriented and it often took a few hours before he was able to shake the feeling that worms were crawling under his skin.
Squirrel was affected as well. The intensity of the dreams bled through the bond and he would be wakened by his own version of the horrors Fist experienced. Eventually, Squirrel discovered that the dreams didn’t affect him unless Fist was asleep. So the little creature started staying awake all night. He watched over Puj and Fist, then slept in his pouch during the daytime.
The Ogre Apprentice Page 27